


Nadine

by girlintheglen



Series: Pre-series Illya [12]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Russian still has a few things to learn about life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nadine

“ Ah, the lovely Nadine.’  A raised eyebrow let Napoleon know that his secretive partner was not amused.  “That’s quite a coup, my friend.  How on earth did you persuade that intoxicatingly beautiful woman to go out with you?”  Now Illya was amused.  The walls of UNCLE Headquarters shielded him only slightly from the constant needling his partner produced whenever the seemingly obtuse Russian abandoned his  _higher standards_  (or at least let them lapse), and dated one of the female personnel.  
  
“I assure you, the lady did not need much persuasion.  She seemed very much inclined to the idea some time before I actually posed the question.”  Napoleon had no doubt about that, his partner was considered a prime catch among UNCLE’s female staff, a source of habitual consternation to the formerly reigning king of such.  When the blond Russian arrived, it seemed all the standards had changed.  
  
“Well, be that as it may, and I assure you I don’t doubt it…’ Napoleon’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he continued.  No point letting the new man get a big head over his popularity.  
“She does seem a little … hmm… how do I say this and …”  
  
“Nadine prefers blond men.  That’s what she told me, and she also seems to be quite fond of blue eyes and romantic accents.  I cannot be held responsible for that for over which I have no control.  I am, it seems, blond and blue-eyed, and the fodder for romantic dreams.”  
Well, that was a mouthful for a reticent Russian.  Napoleon decided to just nod and then see how it all turned out.  
  
“Fine.  I’m sure you’ll  _both_  have a delightful evening.  Now, we have a meeting with Mr. Waverly and I suggest…’’  He waved his arm toward the door, falling in behind Illya as the Romantic One headed through the pneumatic door.  
  
The evening that Illya Kuryakin had in mind for Nadine from Translations was not, perhaps, what Napoleon might have designed.  In spite of his time in the world’s most romantic city, the lights of Paris had not yet shed on the Russian what some would expect in the way of illumination regarding the opposite sex.  There was no doubt that he had learned quite a lot about making love to women, and was tolerably well mannered considering some of the abuses of his youth.  
  
What Kuryakin lacked, and what Napoleon had in immeasurable amounts and technique, was that urbane charm that transcended gender, location, station in life and any other limitation known to mortal, sex starved men.  
  
It wasn’t a lack of prowess once the lights were low and the bodies entwined.  The young Russian was simply not yet, in his earlier years, smooth.  What he feigned as a lack of awareness concerning the swooning women in his wake was not truly his perception.  He knew.  He felt their eyes watching him, understood the eagerness that awaited him should he acquiesce to their desire.  
  
Paris had taught him much, although as the student, his tenure had been fraught with both failure and success.  Learning to please a woman had intrigued him, but his eagerness to take her sometimes created an awkwardness that was difficult to overcome.  Only his boyish looks and innate innocence of the feminine mystique had saved him from utter desolation.  Women tended to want to take care of him, even if it meant becoming an instructress rather than the recipient of her lover’s expertise.  
  
Yes, Paris had been a school room of romance and sexual intrigue for the uninitiated Russian.  
  
Now, in New York among an entirely different breed of worldly women, Illya found himself not only in great demand, but also in competition with his new partner and friend.  Napoleon had held the position of Stud of Choice among this city’s females, or so it seemed.  Illya, although he was loath to admit it, greatly admired Solo’s endless parade of willing partners.  He cloaked it with remarks of disdain, uttering comments intended to mask his wonderment at the sheer volume of women eager to bed the handsome American.   
Illya considered himself lucky indeed to be associated with Solo, and was pleasantly surprised when it became apparent that he was also to be a recipient of such willing lovers.  
  
That is when Illya Kuryakin decided to be cautious.  He knew that his history with women could repeat itself here in New York.  The lovers in Paris were not connected with UNCLE, would have no means of sharing his flaws.  If his less than Casanova like performances were to become fodder for gossip he knew there would be no end to the misery of it.  Better to gain control of his libido and be seen as discriminating.   
And that worked.  Not only was the blond the topic of much daydreaming and speculation, he actually gained a sort of enigmatic allure for his lack of dating among the employees at headquarters.  The women jockeyed for position in their attempts to gain his attention, and as they did his aloofness increased.  It was nearly genius had it not been merely a defense against failure.  
  
So it was that the lovely Nadine Hamilton was only too happy to accept the invitation to dinner with the mysterious and handsome blond Kuryakin.  Nadine was, herself, the object of many fantasies.  Her figure rivaled the great Monroe, and in spite of being as tall as Illya, he enjoyed the vantage point she offered while wearing heels.  Her ample breasts were somehow closer to his affectionate yearnings, her long brown hair more easily entangled in eager fingers.  
  
Illya suggested that they meet at his restaurant of choice.  Miss Hamilton liked the blond agent, and had secretly hoped that he would ask her out. Illya was waiting for Nadine outside the door of his favorite Italian restaurant.  It was a cliché, of course, to have Italian on a first date, but Illya liked the cuisine and it was cheap.   The fact that it was not the friendliest choice for a woman who would no doubt attempt to be coy and demure while eating was lost on the hungry Russian.  Somehow slurping pasta seemed both economical and satisfying.  
  
“Nadine, you found it I see.  I hope you like Italian.”  Nadine purred with delight.  Illya was in his trademark black jeans and turtleneck, the shaggy blond hair combed down in that style she knew was popular among the existentialists of Paris.   He was a bit of a Bohemian, and the prospects of discovering what a Bohemian liked was slightly titillating to the curvaceous brunette.  Illya noted the dilation in her pupils and wondered if they might skip supper altogether and head directly for her flat.  
  
Nadine was dressed in a simple red sheath, every stitch clinging dangerously close to her body.  Illya felt himself going slightly hard just looking at her.  The old habits were rising up, quite literally, and he found it impossible to imagine sitting through a meal with this gorgeous creature across from him.  So close he could…  
  
“Illya?  Are you all right, you’ve gone slightly pale.”  The Russian ducked his head, something that made the women think he was shy.  In reality he was attempting to regain some control over his body.  He chastised himself over the inability to go more slowly.   _Romance her_ , he had heard Napoleon say it more than once.  Illya wanted to romance Nadine, but more than romance he wanted to invade her body and find some release for what was building inside of him.  
  
“I am just famished.  I hope you are hungry as well, the food here is delicious.”  He meant it, but his hunger wasn’t for the food inside.  He wanted Nadine, beneath him and crying out in ecstasy.  
  
With a finesse borne of experience, Illya put his arm around Nadine’s small waist and guided her inside.  Another customer, slightly dizzy from too much wine, stumbled slightly and pushed Nadine into Illya.  She found herself face to face with her date, immediately aware of his arousal.  It pleased her to know she had this effect on the man, but she wasn’t ready to simply give herself over to him.  What she now knew for certain was that control of the evening had passed over to her side.  
  
Dating a Section II was not something wholly approved by the Command.  Other personnel in Headquarters had to be circumspect regarding these relationships, or liaisons.  Nadine was aware of the narrow allowances for such things, and as was the case with most of the women who worked for UNCLE, a certain amount of modernity was employed when it came to these men.  
  
It was not uncommon to cast aside traditional views when dealing with agents.  Their lives were not guaranteed, with each mission holding the possibility of it being the last.  That’s what made them so attractive, perhaps, to someone like Nadine.  She was hopeful of a future much like the one painted for her by her parents, but the excitement of being with a man who lived on the edge of danger was intoxicating.  Nadine wanted to experience Illya Kuryakin, and this dinner was merely a preamble to what she hoped would be a night to remember.  
  
Illya was also hoping for a memorable evening, something that would be pleasurable for both him and Nadine.  Getting through dinner became an exercise in patience for him, until finally the last  bite was taken and the bill delivered.  Illya gifted the waiter with a meager tip, something that Nadine noted but decided was of little consequence to her.  Much like the lack of an escort to this location, she passed it off as something inherent in dealing with a Russian.  She only hoped it wasn’t indicative of the more intimate parts of the night.  
  
The sidewalk was busy with pedestrians going to and from work and home, restaurants and shopping… a myriad of possibilities.  Illya signaled for a taxi and then asked Nadine for her address.  She told the driver and then the real anticipation began.  
  
“I can fix some coffee if you like.  I have some pie, so a little dessert to top off our meal.  How does that sound?”  to Illya it sounded like one more delay in his intended conquest of the very desirable Nadine.  He sighed his reply, something she found both pleasing and perplexing.  
“Do you like pie?”  Illya wanted to kiss her.  Pie?   
  
“Yes, very much.  What sort of pie do you intend to serve me?”  He made it sound like a very leading sort of question.  Nadine felt herself blush under the scrutiny in the ice blue eyes.  If she had been standing it was certain her knees would have been weak from the intensity of what she recognized as ardor coming off of the Russian like steam from the subway.  
  
“Umm… uh, well … I … ‘ she giggled self-consciously… “I’ve forgotten.  Oh dear.”  Finally, this was what Illya had waited for.  
When the taxi pulled up in front of Nadine’s apartment the two would be lovers emerged.  Illya paid the driver, omitting the tip this time in lieu of what he considered an over priced ride.   “Thanks pal, for nothin’.”  The taxi took off in a huff while Nadine searched frantically for her keys.  
  
“Oh my gosh, I think I must have forgotten my keys on the entry table.  I can’t believe this… My landlord isn’t even home tonight.”  Her lament trailed off into something like a whine, but it didn’t compare to the internal anguish that it created within Illya.  He had waited all evening for this and now, the silly girl didn’t have her keys.  
  
“I can break into your apartment.  I am pretty good at things like that.”  He offered his services, not in the spirit of chivalry but because he thought if he didn’t get this on track he might explode.  
  
“Oh, no… gee, I don’t… I might get in trouble with my landlord.”  Nadine really was apprehensive about breaking in, even though it was her apartment.  Illya continued to try and persuade her.  
  
“Really, I won’t leave a mark.  What else would you do?  Where would you go tonight if you cannot get into your apartment?”  Nadine hadn’t thought of that.  
  
“I could go home with you.”  Panic set in.  Illya didn’t take women home with him.  It wasn’t wise, it was… impossible.  
  
“No.  I mean, it is against policy, we … I cannot do that, Nadine.  I am sorry, terribly sorry.  I can get into your apartment, I will just fiddle the lock and… voila!  We will be in and…’ He couldn’t help himself with what he did next.  Illya leaned in and kissed Nadine.  It was a passionate,  _full of promise_  kind of kiss that caused the young woman to nearly loose her balance.   
  
“Yes?”  She found it difficult to nod with her lips searching for his.  “Mmm hmmm….”  
It was a matter of little difficulty for the agent to get into Nadine’s apartment.  It was a matter of slightly more difficulty for Illya to get into Nadine.  By the time he had her pinned against the wall, she had lost nearly all of her resolve to eventually marry and have children in the tradition of all good American girls.  This Russian was what she wanted, and now she realized that if she wanted him for keeps, then she couldn’t give in now.  She needed to resolve to have more self-control.  
  
“Illyaaa….?”  He was disengaging something, reaching inside the red dress and caressing a sensitive part of her body.  He was ready to get naked, to lay her down on the bed and …  
  
“Please stop.  I’m sorry, but … sigh…”  Illya did stop, he was nothing if not a gentleman.  A very frustrated and on the edge of total madness gentleman.  
  
“What is it, Nadine?  Have I done something wrong?”  the ache in his voice was palpable and Nadine almost reversed her sensible decision to deny herself the pleasure of the Russian in favor of courting him for marriage.  
  
“I… I think we should wait. You know… “  
  
“Wait?  For what, my darling?”  Illya’s expression went from tenderness, to confusion to utter dispair.  
  
“If we have something special then we should wait and… you know, until we know what we want from this relationship.”  
  
Suddenly there was no more urgency.  Illya was now done, finis.  This girl had driven him crazy and now she was the one who sounded insane.  She straightened up and reached for a light switch.  What she saw in the mirror above the abandoned keys was a disheveled girl whose dress was unzipped and hanging off of one shoulder.  Next to her was the guileless blond who had driven her nearly to wantonness.  Almost.  
  
“I am so sorry Illya.  I just… I’ve never … This just isn’t the right time for me to do this.  I want to get married and …  Illya?”  
  
Illya kissed her on the cheek and stepped back a little.  What had happened to make Nadine change her mind?  Was it him, had he learned nothing over the years?  
  
“You are right, Nadine.  This is not right for us.  You are a beautiful woman, and somewhere there is a very lucky man who is waiting for you, and the life you envision for yourself.  It just is not I who will be so lucky.  It is not my lot in life, I fear.”  Illya straightened up and ran his fingers through the unruly blond hair.  
  
“Would you like to stay and have pie?  I remember what kind it is now, it’s cherry.”  Her voice was so earnest, so contrite.  Cherry pie?  No, Illya decided he would do best to leave that and the luscious Nadine alone, just as he would go home and be alone.   
  
“You are a delightful woman, Nadine ma cherie, but I believe I should not stay for your cherry pie.  You are both entirely too tempting for me to resist any longer.  I must either have you or leave.”  It was a last attempt to dissuade her from her decision.  
  
“I understand Illya.  I’m so sorry.  I really am.  You’re a dear man, and I … “ Illya put his finger on her lips to silence the apology.  He kissed her once more on the cheek and then left through the door he had only just come through.  
  
“No breaking and entering tonight, Kuryakin.”  He said it aloud as he descended the stairs back onto the busy street.  He could live like a monk if it came to it.  There was something to be said, after all, for self-control.  The name of a jazz club came to mind, sending the rejected Russian out into the night in search of a solace he could count on.


End file.
